Breaking Down Tacit Barriers
by Tyloric
Summary: Pre-slash, Temporary Debilitation, Violence - Clint is trapped in the sewers of New York, alone in total darkness surrounded by monsters that are just looking for an opportunity to swallow him whole. Injured and unable to move or speak, the only thing that is keeping Clint calm is the sound of his team's voices in his ear, still transmitting over his comm.


**_Note:_** Originally posted on Archive of Our Own

 _Tacit: "understood or implied without being stated."_

Clint hated sewers; he hated the smell, he hated the sliminess of the walls, he really hated the viscous liquids that clung to his boots, but most of all he hated that there was no place where he could be up high. Clint was a marksman. What good is a marksman without a vantage point? There hadn't even been enough room to hold his bow properly so he'd been forced to resort to a Glock 22. Not a terrible weapon, mind you, but Clint always felt uneasy without the familiar weight and balance of his bow. He had also been forced to wear body armor across his torso, causing his movements to be stiff and a bit sloppy.

"What's it like on your end, Hawkeye?" Steve asked over the comm.

"Shit. Literally shit. Everywhere. Just shit. I hate sewers."

He heard Tony laugh but didn't comment otherwise.

"That's not what I meant," Steve sighed.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Oh, you mean have I seen any flesh-eating mutant lizards that HYDRA is using to throw all of New York into a panic? No. No I have not. That would be an improvement."

"But they'll be covered in shit," Natasha quipped coolly.

"Don't sass me, woman."

"Focus, Avengers. Flesh-eating lizards, remember?" Coulson said and Clint recognizes that tone. Coulson may have sounded like he was irritated or annoyed, but Clint knew he was smiling. Well, as close to smiling as the agent could get.

"You're welcome to come and join me, Coulson," Clint said provocatively.

Coulson hummed like he was considering it. "Lonely already, Hawkeye?" And Clint knew Coulson was only humoring him. When Clint was stressed he defaulted to his usually setting of sarcasm and flirting, level: hardcore. For whatever reason, it settled Clint's nerves.

He sighed dramatically. "I'm always lonely when you're not in the room, babe."

Tony made a gagging noise. "This is an _open_ comm. Some things just shouldn't be shared."

Smirking, Clint asked, "Jealous, Iron Man?"

Which is when Bruce spoke up. "He's always jealous when he's not the center of attention."

"Oi!" came Tony's indignant reply.

"Lovers quarrels all around," He heard Natasha mutter.

Tony started to reply, "Since when have I-"

The water behind Clint sloshed. "Radio silence," he snapped and the comms immediately went quiet.

Clint had his glock in one hand and a flashlight in the other, shining it down the long and narrow tunnel. In terms of precision, Clint had no equals. He had almost superhuman vision, which he'd suspected was greatly aided by his hearing impairment. Clint had been born with it, hearing the world in muffled tones, everything sounding indistinct and distant. Growing up in an abusive home had caused Clint to become very adept at reading people's lips and body language.

Years later, when he'd been recruited into SHEILD, he had been fitted with hearing aides for the first time in his life. The problem was that he had no frame of reference for the sensations that came with them. Everything had been so loud and chaotic and so totally overwhelming that he'd ripped them out and thrown them across the room. Clint had gotten used to them eventually-he wouldn't have survived as long as he had without being able to quickly adapt-but it had been a long and grueling process. Learning how to speak properly had been particularly humiliating.

The beam from the flashlight only reached so far, doing little against the thick black veil of the tunnels, meaning Clint's super-sight served to do almost nothing for him. But Clint had _definitely_ heard something lurking in the dark just beyond his flashlights reach; subtle wet slaps that were almost inaudible, pacing. A hunter waiting for an opportunity. Slowly Clint crept forward, keeping his knees bent slightly just in case he had to move quickly.

He spoke carefully, keeping his voice a soft as he was able. "Pretty sure I'm being stalked." There was a glimmer in the darkness as Clint's flashlight reflected off something, there for only a fraction of a second before disappearing, but he knew a pair of eyes when he saw them. "Make that definitely."

"How many?" Coulson asked, all-business. His unwavering calm in a crisis had always served to boost Clint's morale, knowing that someone always had his back.

"At least one-" Clint's only warning was a sharp hiss from up above his head, and instinctively launched himself forward, rolling out of the way. He tried desperately not to think about what sort of things he was now covered in, coming out of the roll in a kneeling position just as there was a loud wet splash landing where Clint had been just a half-second earlier. The creatures were able to stick to wall; that had not been in the report. Fucking lousy intel, _fucking_ _sewers!_

The 'lizard' was a good six feet in length, nine if you included the massive tail extending that looked more than capable of causing some serious damage. The creature reminded Clint of a Komodo dragon (if it was from hell), except the creatures body was leaner, but more for agility than brute strength, and its snout shaped more like a feline's than a reptile's, with wide golden eyes. All of that along with the claws that protruded from each foot served to properly terrify Clint. Lizard didn't cut it with this thing; the only fair description Clint could come up with was _monster_. It let out a sound that was a mix between a roar and a hiss, dropping low to the ground in preparation to lunge.

Clint didn't hesitate, letting off three shots in quick succession, all aimed at the eyes and forehead. His aim was true, but the creature had unnaturally quick reflexes, lunging out of the way instead of at Clint, sticking the side the tunnel. It began to barrel its way towards him, legs moving in a blur as it rushed forward, traveling along the wall the entire time.

Struggling to keep the light trained on the creature, Clint held his ground where he was kneeling in the middle of the tunnel. At best he only had a couple of seconds to line up the shot. Clint kept steady and just as the creature was about to be on him he squeezed the trigger only once, landing a hit right in the monster's right eye. He rolled out of the way as the creature slid to a stop, roaring and thrashing about in rage and pain.

As Clint started to line up another shot aimed at the creature's temple, it took off further into the tunnel.

The entire conflict was over and done in only a quarter of a minute.

Clint rose to his feet, wiping a clean sleeve across his faces to try and clear the gunk out of his eyes, and sprinted after the monster, intent on not letting it escape. He could still hear the barks and hisses as the creature ran, echoing eerily down the long corridors.

"Engaged with one creature, it's attempting to flee. I'm in pursuit." Clint said, panting heavily as he ran, trying to keep his balanced as the water sloshed around his boots.

"Negative, Hawkeye. Wait for backup," Steve ordered.

If he hadn't been already gasping for breath Clint would have groaned loudly. "I'll lose it if I wait for backup. I injured it. Only has one eye now," he finished smugly.

"Clint," Natasha started, somehow sounding irritated and resigned at the same time, "A wounded animal is more dangerous than a healthy one."

"That's half the fun."

Coulson's voice was suddenly in his ear. "Barton, if you're injured we might not be able to get to you in time. We're not even sure where you are."

"Well-" He started and then abruptly stopped speaking, sliding to a halt. In front of him was a massive hole, like someone had scooped it up and throw it aside. It was enormous; easily ten by ten, the edges jagged and uneven all the way around.

Clint took in the sight and immediately came to two conclusions. One; that the 'cave' (that was really the best word for it) hadn't been dug, it had been clawed away (the scratch makes along the stone and sides of the dirt supporting this theory).

And two; that there was no way that the one creature he had just encountered could have carved out the tunnel alone. A lot more than one. Many, many more.

An entire fucking colony.

"Boss," Clint started, addressing Coulson, "We've got a problem. A very, very big problem."

"What kind of problem?" Came Coulson's reply. Steady, but Clint could hear the concerned undertone.

He took a deep breath and swallowed before speaking. "Well, if this massive tunnel carved into the side of the wall is any indication, this isn't just a few loose freak shows; it's an infestation." Clint started to back up slowly. "I'm gonna head back, try and meet up with you guys."

There was a hiss and Clint ducked instinctively. He felt the rush of air as the creature passed overhead and landed only a few feet in front of Clint. He'd already started turning his body to try and roll away and get some more distance between it and him when the creature's tail snapped back. Clint only just registered it as it slammed against him, hitting him square in the throat right over his Adam's apple. The impact was forceful enough to send him stumbling backwards, his head hitting ground so hard that it bounced. His flashlight slid across the ground as it was knocked loose from his hand.

For several moments Clint wasn't aware of anything. White spots danced across his vision in stark contrast against the darkness. The world was spinning, and Clint had no way of knowing which way was up and down. But then his survival instincts, which he had been honing since even before joining SHIELD, blared over all the other noise in his head, and the world snapped back into focus.

The creature was stalking towards him. His flashlight wasn't trained on it, but the way the light struck its good eye made it glow eerily. The creature shot out at him suddenly, lunging. It landed on his legs and began clawing away at his torso mercilessly. Panic forced Clint into action and he raised his Glock (which he hasn't realized he had been still holding until just then), firing wildly at the creature's head.

There was a sharp shriek of pain as the creature began to move backwards, trying to retreat into the darkness, but Clint didn't stop firing, even after he had lost sight of the creature. Even after the clip clicked empty he was still pulling the trigger as fast as he was able. Clint was panting heavily, his arms shaking uncontrollably.

"Hawkeye, report." Clint jumped at the sound of Coulson's voice in his eye. It took him a minute for him to calm down enough to reply.

Clint started to speak, but then there was a sharp pain that was so intense that he nearly lost consciousness, the only sound coming out of his mouth a short gasping choke.

"Hawkeye, _report_." The tone rang familiar with Clint. Coulson only sounded like that when he was so worried that it was starting to crack through his emotionless mask.

"Is he down?" Steve asked and he sounded as if he was running.

"Unknown."

There was panicked chatter over the comm. for several minutes, everyone trying to figure out what might have happened to Clint and where he could possibly be. Clint kept trying to get their attention and tell them he was alive, but any time he tried to speak it felt as in he was swallowing razor blades. Clint forced himself up into the sitting position, leaned against the wall and grabbed his flashlight, wracking his brain to try and figure out how to get a message through.

The solution was so simple that Clint wanted to cry. He started tapping his finger against the hearing aid that doubled as his comm.

"Everyone shut up," Natasha snapped, and the chatter cut out. Clint kept up the repetition of his taps, trying to fight the nausea that came with the concussion he more than likely had.

"What is that?" Tony mumbles.

"Morse code," Steve spoke at the same time Coulson said, "SOS."

"Clint, is that you?" For some reason Clint found mixture of nervousness and hope in Coulson's tone unsettling.

 _Yes_ , he tapped out.

"He says yes," Natasha says for Tony's benefit. He growls in response and orders JARVIS to start translating for him.

"Everyone, quiet," Came Bruce's unusually leveled reply. "Clint, why can't you speak?"

 _Injury_. Clint had never been more grateful that he had decided to teach himself Morse code on a particularly boring op.

"Where are you?" Coulson asked tightly.

 _Unknown._

The dizziness continued to worsen and Clint's throat had felt like it was on fire. Tears were welled up in his eyes as he struggled to stay focused.

"How severe are you injuries?" Bruce asks.

Clint started to tap out a reply but suddenly couldn't remember how to do so. His stomach started to churn and the vomit was coming up before he could entirely lean over, gasping and wheezing and trying desperately to not pass out.

"That doesn't sound good," Tony voiced shakily. "JARVIS, give me thermal sensors."

"Dr. Banner, is there anything you can do help locate him?" Steve asks.

"This is New York's sewer system, Captain. He could be anywhere."

"Clint," Coulson said, sounding more composed. "You started at Duane and Church street. How much ground did you cover?"

Clint struggled to remember, having to force his way through the haze. He traced his way through the tunnels, calculating how many steps he had taken approximately along with how long his stride had been.

 _(dash) Five km._

Oh, God. It felt as if there was an entire colony of fire ants living in his head.

"Set up a search grid," Coulson barked, likely addressing the SHIELD techs. "Tony, I'm sending you coordinates."

"Roger, roger."

And that continued on for a while. Clint focused in on the chatter, listening to everyone's voices. He didn't necessarily hear what they were saying and instead used the noise to keep himself anchored, so that the darkness didn't drag him away.

But even Clint had his limits.

 _Phil._

"Yeah, Clint?"

With tears in his eyes, Clint tapped out: _Hurts. Help._

Awake (his throat feels like its on fire). He just had to stay awake (the world wouldn't stop spinning). Clint was so dizzy that he fell over into the sewer filth.

"We're going to find you, Clint," Steve said and meant it. "Just hold tight, we're on our way."

"Everyone switch to a different channel," Coulson said suddenly, followed by a symphony of protests, and Clint noted that there were more voices than just the Avengers now.

"Hey!" Natasha snapped. "Everyone switch. Now. See you soon, Barton." He smiled weakly. Clint had always loved that woman.

Then there was silence and Clint started to panic. Phil must have heard his panting because he spoke up then.

"I'm still here, Clint. I'm still here."

 _Freaking._

There was a laugh. "I bet. But at least you get your wish. Just you and me," he said fondly. Phil's voice grounded Clint better than the comm. chatter had and he found that he was able to push away the fog just a bit more.

A thought crossed Clint's mind, and he one again has to struggle to keep his cool.

 _Lizards._

"Are there more?" Phil asked, his voice filled with worry and and an anger that hadn't seemed to be directed at Clint.

 _No. What if._

"We're coming to get you, Barton. We'll find you and you'll be fine." Phil sounded like he needed to convince himself as well as Clint.

Clint realized, a bit belatedly, that he was lying face down in sewer water. Becoming consciously aware of that fact made him start dry heaving while also trying to get up, but his arms were shaking and he couldn't find equilibrium, so he was forced to slouch down again, settling for just rolling over on his back.

"Stay with me, Clint. You need to stay awake."

Didn't he know it? There were several things Clint wanted to say to Phil, things that a bit of sloppy morse code couldn't hope to accomplish. But it was okay; Clint had always been good at improvising. Plus, he need the distraction.

 _Food._

"What?" Phil asked, surprised. Clint always wanted to giggle (yes, giggle. Big whoop, wanna fight about it?) when he was able to do or say something that Phil wasn't expecting. It was such a rare pleasure; how could he now want to treasure the moment?

"Are you... hungry, Clint?" Phil sounded like he was addressing a child who had just said something monumentally stupid.

 _You. Me._

"Clint?"

 _Date._

And there it was, out in the open. The universe had heard it, Phil had heard it, and that made it real.

Even over the comm., a stunned silence settled between them. Clint waited patiently, adamantly not thinking about the nausea that was causing his stomach to roll, or the numbness that was creeping up his throat, or even what the hell that squishy stuff in his boot could possibly be (he had really liked those boots), and he most certainly did not dwell on what he might do if Phil said no because he was hurt and probably had who knows what diseases he might have caught from those fucking sewers so and he was already at his wits end and why the hell had even asked-

And then Phil started laughing, loud and genuine and it was the most beautiful thing that Clint had ever heard. "Of course you would choose now, of all times, to finally bring this up. You're insane."

 _Yes._

"And insufferable."

 _Yes._

"And one of the most impossible people I have ever known."

 _Yes._

"And yes."

 _What._

"We should get 'food'. That sounds nice." And for a precious few seconds, Clint had felt monumentally better. His chest was lighter and he couldn't have hoped to wipe the grin off his face, even amongst all the pain.

But then his flashlight died and suddenly Clint couldn't breathe. He had never had a fear of the dark as he was exceptionally skilled at using it to his advantage. But this was different. This wasn't him hiding in the moonlight, or on a rooftop, or behind cover; this was utter and complete blackness and he was hurting and couldn't tell which way was up and couldn't even yell for help and in this instance the monsters were very, very real.

As if on cue, Clint heard a hiss and started hyperventilating so hard that Phil could hear it over the comm.

"Clint? What's wrong?"

He gasped and choked and started trying to get to his feet, but he couldn't find balance and the floors were too slippery. Pain, spinning, can't think, _need to get away!_

Clint let out a desperate moan in place of the panicked scream he had been aiming for.

"Clint? _Clint!_ "

Another hiss cut the air like a knife, coupled with quick, wet slaps against concrete that began to quickly closing in on him. There was also the familiar whine of repulsors charging up- wait, what?

There was a loud _whomp_ followed by a brief flash of light, and Clint saw one of the creatures go flying backwards in mid air just before the black fog in his head finally claimed him as its own.

When he wakes up, Clint immediately recognizes that he is at SHIELD medical (being that he spends a lot of time here so he was of course intimately familiar with the facility). The overhead fluorescent lights don't hurt his eye nearly as much as he thought they would. In fact, despite a bit of nausea he doesn't feel all that bad.

"You're awake," a familiar voice said. Clint looked over to see Phil sitting in a chair that he had pulled close to Clint's bed. He looked tired (if the bags under his eyes were indication), but also relieved.

"Yeah," Clint said and wow, was that his voice? It was low and ragged, like he had been a pack-a-day smoker for the past decade. But it didn't hurt to talk, so that was something.

He must have a weird look on his face because Phil looks amused. "You voice is only temporary. You look a heavy blow to the neck which caused some moderate bruising to your trachea and also caused several blood vessels on your vocal cords to burst. Which also means you have to rest your voice for several days while they heal. So no more talking." Phil gestured at Clint's IV and the bag that was attached. "You also felt is necessary to roll around in human waste, so you're on some pretty heavy antibiotics and you'll have to stay a few days to make sure you didn't catch anything particularly nasty, and that concussion you have shouldn't be that big a deal, but you're going to need a follow up MRI tomorrow just to make sure."

Clint's eyes narrow, taking in all the information and trying to sort it out in his head.

The edges of Phil's lips twitch. "Don't worry, I came prepared." He handed Clint a dry erase board and marker.

Clint sloppily writes out, _This really sucks_ , which earns him a snort.

"Well, maybe next time you'll think twice about charging in without backup." Then Phil winces as if he might have just said something careless.

But Clint just rolls his eyes and writes, _Not likely_. Phil laughs and a comfortable silence falls between them.

It's Phil that breaks it. "I was scared, Clint."

Clint frowns. _I know. Me too_.

"Try not to do anything that stupid again."

Clint winks and grins mischievously.

 _Where are the others?_

"Still down below. You were right about the infestation. The team follow the tunnel down and found a nest. Right now they're picking off stragglers."

Satisfied with that answer, Clint lazily scrawls, _I'm going to pass out now_ , and leans back and closes his eyes. Just as he begins to settle into a comfortable sleep, Phil presses his lips against Clint's forehead.

Clint's eyes snap open, staring at Phil in shock.

It's Phil's turn to wink. "Get better soon. We have a date, remember?"

The smile that spreads across Clint's face can only be described as 'shit-eating'. Clint only has the energy to reach out to grasp one of Phil's hands and threading their fingers together before exhaustion pulls him down anyway. The smile stays plastered on Clint's face even after he passes out.


End file.
